


Move You

by hubrisandwax



Series: Aviators 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aviators, Blow Jobs, Cas in Aviators, Hand Jobs, M/M, One-shot that may end up becoming a 'verse, PWP, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hubrisandwax/pseuds/hubrisandwax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Castiel ignores Dean’s comment and instead cocks his head. “You like them on me, don’t you?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Dean tries not to blush, but – as always – Cas has hit the nail on the head. “No,” he says indignantly, sounding like a petulant teenager.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Cas buys a pair of aviator sunglasses at a gas station in Maine. Dean can't be held responsible for his actions thereafter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deans1911 (partialdifferential)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=deans1911+%28partialdifferential%29), [partialdifferential](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partialdifferential/gifts).



> Originally posted on my [tumblr](http://hubrisandwax.tumblr.com) in two parts for [crackedchassis](http://crackedchassis.tumblr.com). Title based off Anya Marina's song 'Move You (SSSPII)', which played on the show (5x08 'Changing Channels') because I couldn't think of anything better.

It’s at a gas station in Maine that Castiel walks out of the shop wearing the damned things.

“What the fuck is on your face?” Dean exclaims, peering over the rear of the impala at the fallen angel. Cas merely levels him with a gaze and walks over to where Dean is pumping gas.

“Sunglasses. I’ve been told that they prevent-“

Dean waves his left hand in a dismissive gesture. “I know what sunglasses are, dude. You just look like a 70s porn star. Aviators, really?”

Cas looks bemused; Dean can imagine him squinting behind the frames. “Porn? You mean like the pizza man?”

“Yeah, like the pizza man,” Dean says. Cas appears inexplicably pleased at this, his lips stretching into a grin, until Dean continues with: “If he’d filmed 40 years ago, had a cut dick haircut, and worn a pair of those.” Dean pulls the pump from car and rises from his crouch. The smile falls from Cas’ face. He frowns.

“My head does not look like a circumcised phallus, Dean.”

Dean half groans, half laughs. He returns the pump to its holder and moves back to stand beside Cas.

“I’m not…” he shakes his head. “Just don’t go askin’ us to call you… what’s the formula? First pet name, first street you lived on?”

“Heaven doesn’t have streets, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes and turns away. “I draw the line at calling you Dick Biggerstaff or whatever, then.”

Castiel ignores Dean’s comment and instead cocks his head. “You like them on me, don’t you?”

Dean tries not to blush, but – as always – Cas has hit the nail on the head. “No,” he says indignantly, sounding like a petulant teenager.

“Hey, nice shades, Cas,” Sam says, interrupting the exchange as he wanders out of the shop, bag of food in hand. Cas gets that stupid little grin again and Dean wants to punch something. Preferably those ridiculous glasses off Cas’ face.

“We’re never giving him money for anything ever again,” Dean grumbles, stalking to the front of the impala. He brightens, however, when he glances at the shopping bag in Sam’s hands. “Is that pie?”

 

* * *

Shit doesn’t really hit the fan, though, until later that evening.

Dean is lying on a motel bed reading a novel when Sam and Cas return from the library. Cas is still wearing those ridiculous glasses, and has insisted on using them inside _and_ outside. It’s beginning to drive Dean nuts.

“Where’s the sun? Is my soul too bright for you, or something?” Dean jokes, dropping the book to the bed. Cas just stands in the middle of the room, staring at him, head tilted. Well, Dean assumes he’s staring, anyway. He can’t see those damned big baby blues behind the brown lenses.

“We couldn’t really find much case-wise here,” Sam says as he dumps his laptop and bag on the table. “So it looks like we’ve got the night off.”

Cas is still staring. Dean’s starting to find it creepy.

“Got any plans?” He concentrates on Sam, trying to ignore Cas.

“Uh…” Sam looks between Dean and Cas uncertainly. “I was thinking of maybe going to find a bar or restaurant or something.” He pauses. “You want to come?”

“No,” Cas says, finally turning away from Dean. “Dean and I will stay here. Thank you, though.”

“Okay?” Dean raises his brow questioningly at Cas.

“Yes,” Cas responds. Dean looks back at Sam and shrugs.

“Bring us some food?”

Sam appears confused. Instead of protesting, though, he simply throws Dean his best ‘we’ll-talk-about-this-later’ look like the big girl he is (Dean swears it’s got something to do with his stupid hair) and replies with: “Sure. I’m taking the Impala, though. Enjoy your evening in doing whatever it is you… do.”

He collects his coat and walks back out the door.

As soon as the slow rumble of the Impala’s engine can be heard, Cas suddenly on the bed and Dean has an armful of six-foot tall angel.

“ _You_ are my sun, Dean,” Cas gasps, fingers clutching at the material of Dean’s shirt, glasses skewed across his face. “Your soul has always been unbearably bright.”

Dean fucking blushes, crimson blooming hot over his cheeks and down his neck. He’s feeling uncomfortable and flustered and like an awkward virgin all over again. Cas always has this effect on him. “Woah there, Romeo. Everything okay?”

“More than okay,” Cas mumbles, voice gravel and chocolate and whiskey, and suddenly his mouth is everywhere, pressing tiny kisses to Dean’s flushed skin. His hands are fisted in Dean’s shirt like Dean is the only thing anchoring him to this world. Dean thinks that it might be one of the hottest things he’s ever seen, Cas with those too-big glasses and full red mouth and rubescent skin touching Dean like he’s worth something. It’s not the first time they’ve been physically intimate with each other; they’ve taken to sharing a room (and a bed) since Cas properly fell (and Dean got over himself and accepted how important the angel actually is to him), but it’s the first time it’s been quite like this; so needy, so desperate. Dean begins to work his hands up Cas’ shirt, fingers grazing the soft skin at the base of his spine, and Cas shivers against him.

“Those glasses are doing things to me, man,” Dean groans, lips finding their way to the blot of Cas’ jaw. Cas just hums in assent and ruts up against Dean like a fucking fifteen year old. What he lacks in experience, he certainly makes up for in enthusiasm; Dean’s dick is growing hard now, pressing almost painfully against the buckle of Cas’ belt.

Then Cas manages to work his fingers between their bodies, down Dean’s jeans, and Dean thinks he’s seeing stars. He moans, deep and needy, and Cas swallows it into his mouth. Their bodies roll together, a rasp of lips and limbs and tongue in rough concert. Cas tastes like coffee and cinnamon and something so sweet it makes Dean’s teeth ache. He removes his mouth from Dean’s and begins to bite indigo blooms across Dean’s collarbones, purple and red flowering bruises. Goosebumps prickle as Cas’ teeth trace the curve of his neck, lips and tongue tangling over one another to reach sensitive skin. Dean sighs and shudders against him, back arching, fingertips tracing the edge of Cas’ shoulder blades, down his back, down, down, down until they circle his hips and reach the soft hair that trickles from his bellybutton over his stomach.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas murmurs like a prayer, voice utterly broken, looking completely debauched. He removes his hand and sits back on Dean’s legs, breathing heavily. “I want…” he starts, looking away, the frames still perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. “I want…”

Dean understands what he wants, and starts undoing Cas’ belt in permission. Cas looks back at Dean, tongue darting out to wet his inner lip, eyes wide and way too blue peeking out from above the frames, and Dean almost comes right there. Cas shifts then, pants half undone, and looms on all fours over Dean. He undoes the button of Dean’s jeans in one swift movement before one of his hands is wrapped around Dean’s dick. Dean mirrors his actions, pulling Cas pants off his narrow hips and palming the bulge in his underwear; Cas fucking whimpers. His pupils are blown behind the lenses, hair like curls of ink against Dean’s fingers. The set of his features is like a secret huffed against Dean’s ear with chocolate-saturated breath - so sweet, so beautiful it makes Dean’s jaw hurt.

Cas begins to move, sliding down Dean’s body until his lips are caught around Dean’s cock. He starts to make tiny, needy keening noises around the shaft as he sucks it eagerly into the warm wet heat of his mouth. All Dean can see is a pair of aviators and those ridiculous lips mouthing between his legs. Cas increases his rhythm, closing his throat over the tip of Dean’s cock, and Dean can’t help but fuck into his mouth. Cas moves Dean’s hands until they’re twisted in his hair, continuing to make the dirtiest goddamn moans Dean thinks he’s ever heard. It’s too much, too soon, and it pushes Dean across the precipice.

“Ca-Cas,” he manages. “I’m gonna-“ and then he’s coming in Cas’ mouth, his orgasm hitting him hard, punching into him, and Cas is swallowing and licking up as much as he can until Dean is too sensitive to take anymore. “Fuck.” Cas hums, tucking Dean back into his pants, and moves back up to rest his head on Dean’s chest.

“Will you admit to liking the glasses now?” Cas says as he kisses the line of Dean’s jaw, because he’s a cheeky little shit. Dean’s answer is to flip Cas over and reverse their positions, wrapping his fingers around Cas’ dick and stroking. The metal of the aviator’s frames presses into Dean’s forehead. Continuing to pump his fist, Dean pushes his fingers into Cas’ mouth and tells him to _suck_ , before he’s pulling them out and reaching around to touch the tight ring of muscle around Castiel’s hole. He eases one finger in, just up to his first knuckle, and then Cas is coming, Dean’s name leaving his lips in a raw sob, streams of white bubbling over Dean’s knuckles and on to his stomach. Cas collapses in a heap of too-long limbs, curling like a sleepy cat around Dean. Dean pulls off his shirt, trying not to disturb Cas, and proceeds to clean them both up.

“Is that enough of an answer for you?” Dean says, pulling the glasses off Cas’ face so he can see his expression. Cas looks up at him with wide eyes and mussed hair, all adorable innocence and pink-tinged skin. A knowing smirk flashes across his mouth.

“Next time, I’ll wear a tie as well.”

Dean proceeds to bash his head against the headboard above him. What even is his life, anyway?


End file.
